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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351620">who the birds sing for</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu'>roraruu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Father’s Daughter [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Birds, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, telepathy with animals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:49:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne is four when she realizes she can talk to the birds. Her parents hear nothing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minor or Background Relationship(s), Python/Silque (Fire Emblem)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Father’s Daughter [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>who the birds sing for</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>back at it again with this crack. i'm so sorry y'all clicked. a friend made cracks about marianne being able to speak to the birds (they know her favourite songs, love her and silque and try to poop on python from time to time bc he's a grouch)<br/>as always, thank you for reading ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marianne is four when she realizes she can hear the birds talk.</p><p>It’s the early spring. Leicester is slowly coming back to life with the dawn of the planting season and all the new beginnings it brings. Soon the fields will be full with plough workers, farmhands and gardeners ready to plant the first of the crops that will feed them.</p><p>However, the pious children of Leicester know this as the return of the goddess and nature’s creatures. The squirrels and chipmunks, even the mythic golden deer told of in songs and fables that they all once heard as children, will return to the land sooner or later. But the first thing that heralds the arrival of spring are songbirds. Finches, blue jays, doves and all sorts of singers take to the sky once again.</p><p>Warmth and light comes back to Leicester at the end of a heavy winter, a hard one too. And Python finds himself already called for work. So much for winter patrols on his old steed—though few asked him for such a thing. His hands aren't ones meant for a hoe or plough; they're made for a bow and arrow, for a hammer and saw. People begin to ask him for new furnishings, like dressers and night stand tables and armoires. He never answers the door anymore, but his lover does and always agrees that he would be happy to make something.</p><p>(In truth, he <em>is</em>, but only for her. If anyone else had taken the orders for him, he’d tell them to shove it.)</p><p>Sometimes, his daughter Marianne will add a little pressure, but only when he’s being stubborn about it. His lover, Silque, will gently chastise him, saying that he can take on yet another project, that they have the space for it in the workshop; and little Marianne will follow suit, saying that she will help him.</p><p>Her form of help is sitting with her father and making sure his work gets done. A few cheers like “<em>you can do it, Papa</em>” from her soft little voice. Maybe even a cookie that she and her mother baked earlier that day.</p><p>(Her help is better than any one he’s ever known.)</p><p>On this surprisingly cool spring day, Python finds himself unmotivated to work. In truth, it’s a thinly veiled disguise to have his oddball daughter nearby. And to give her mother some peace of mind while she goes to the church to work.</p><p>Python glances up from his half finished dining room table. The legs are still being sanded down, but the top is level and ready to stand up and be used. His workshop is a repurposed barn—for he and Silque couldn’t care for animals—that had seen much better times. Some of the windows are broken and the glass has been removed to stop injuries (at Silque’s pressure, of course). The doors slam shut loudly and scare poor Marianne and the thatched roof has a hole in it’s top, letting the cold and rain inside.</p><p>He hears Marianne’s voice first, over the hull of the sandpaper in his hands. His brow furrows as he stops working.</p><p>“And then what happened Mister Birdie?”</p><p>Python glances towards his daughter, who stands at the windowsill. The edge of her cloak drags against the dirt floor and is wet from their trek through the melting snow.</p><p>“Really now?”</p><p>On the edge of the sill, is a little bluebird who chirps happily. Python’s brow furrows. <em>Is she… talking to it?</em> He wonders.</p><p>“Marianne. What are you doing?” Python calls out.</p><p>His daughter spins in her spot happily. She glances back at the bird, who flutters away and then hurries over to her father, cautious of his tools that are splayed out over the floor.</p><p>“Thought ya were supposed to make sure I got this table done today.”</p><p>“Sorry Papa.” Marianne glances to the table. “But it looks very good! The customer will like it a lot!”</p><p>Python smiles a little. He sets down the wad of sandpaper and heaves off his working glove. “What were ya doin’ by the window?” He asks.</p><p>Marianne’s eyes grow wide. She beams brighter than the sun and for a split second, Python sees so much of Silque in her. His lover always walks around with a wide smile and soft eyes. Once, she had said that their land was so full of sorrows, that her own woes were nothing in comparison.</p><p><em>“And I want those I meet to remember my face as one wearing a smile, so I try to hide any sadness I might feel.” </em>She told him in the silence of a cold cathedral once.</p><p>Over the years, he’s been able to tell when that smile of hers is fake or forced; and with time she has come to want him to see her as she truly is. He sees that same bright smile in Marianne, but without the sadness, without the force or hiding. It is simply a smile of happiness, of her true emotion.</p><p>“I was talking to the birdie.” She says.</p><p>“You were talkin’ to a bird?”</p><p>Marianne nods eagerly, then grabs her father’s hand. She pulls him towards the window and looks out. “He was just here…” she says.</p><p><em>It’s probably just a joke or somethin’…</em> He thinks.</p><p>Marianne pulls him down to her height and suddenly, Python on his knees by the windowsill. “Stay very, very quiet.” She warns her father.</p><p>Her eyes look like they’re going to bug out of her skull. Her little hands are knotting up tight. He follows her gaze up to a snowy tree branch that barely meets the side of the barn. It’s a plump little bluebird that is nestled inside.</p><p>“Have you done this before Mari?” Python asks.</p><p>Marianne nods then holds a finger to her little lips for her father to shut up. He holds his hands up and laxes against the side of the barn.</p><p>Any other child would grow annoyed or fed up with waiting and make a fuss for the bird to come back down. But Marianne simply waits for the bird to come back down. “Come on Mister Birdie, it’s okay.” She calls softly. ”It’s just my own Papa.”</p><p>“Is he missin’ someone?”</p><p>Marianne nods. “His parents are gone and he’s very worried.” She says, then gasps. Python looks up and sees the bird on the edge of the sill, chirping wildly at Marianne.</p><p>“Seems fine to me.”</p><p>“Can’t you hear him, Papa?” Marianne asks. The look on her face says she might cry if he says he can’t. So he nods and pretends like he’s listening very hard. He crunches up his brow and purses his lips to make her feel better.</p><p>“‘Course I can. But I think he likes you better, so why don’t you tell me what he’s said? Save him the trouble of repeating.”</p><p>She nods. “His parents left their nest after a bigger bird came too close. Now he can’t find them and he misses them a lot.”</p><p>“What do you think we should do?” He asks Marianne.</p><p>Her little brow furrows. “We can do something?”</p><p>“Sure, why not? Your friend’s in trouble, so what do you do?”</p><p>“You help them?”</p><p>Python nods. “Right on, kiddo. C’mon. I have an idea.” He holds out his hand for her to take and pulls himself to his feet.</p><p>Python finds a few scraps of wood from the table and asks Marianne to keep talking to her bird friend while he works—and that she needs to tell him what the bird says because he can’t carry on conversation and work. Marianne chatters on with the bird, happy and bright eyed as it chirps loud and brightly for her.</p><p>At his work bench, Python hammers together pieces of wood, sands the prickly pieces down and smooths out the edges, then asks Marianne to follow him outside. In the little clearing by the barn, where a pasture used to be, they pull up long grasses and tuck them into the hole of the birdhouse.</p><p>When the little home is finished, Python hauls Marianne up onto his shoulder and tells her to hang it in the tree where her bird friend is.</p><p>“Call him too. Tell him we made him a new home.” He says.</p><p>Marianne nods, before calling out for him. “Mister Birdie? Here you are!” She says.</p><p>The bluebird flies down from it’s hiding spot in the trees. It flutters around the birdhouse cautiously before sitting on the little rest and poking it’s head in. It’s call echoes through the little house and makes Marianne laugh.</p><p>“What’d he say?” Python asks.</p><p>Marianne beams again. “He says he loves it and that you’re a good crafter, Papa.” He says.</p><p>“Well, maybe in the summer we’ll paint it for him.” Python suggests.</p><p>The bluebird then sits down on the rest and begins to sing for the two of them. Python cracks a smile as Marianne laughs and begins to sing along with them. Then, as the bird slips into the house for a nap, Marianne grabs her father’s hand.</p><p>“He’ll need food for the morning! We need to get him something to eat and leave it out.</p><p>“Hey, hey. I’ll give him a house Mari, but we don’t have the stuff to feed a bird.” Python says. “Besides, it would attract other pests. I don’t wanna be cleaning up—”</p><p>But Marianne is sly and quick. As Python’s doing his best impression of Forsyth’s lecturing while telling her the problems that will ensue if they bring food, Marianne runs out of the workshop.</p><p>Python stops his rambling and hurries after her, through the snow and slush. He darts out of the workshop, watching as Marianne hurries up the small hill and to their home. Almost runs straight into his lover, who is returning from her day’s work.</p><p>“Python, what’s going on?” Silque asks. Her hand catches his arm, stopping him from moving any further.</p><p>Before he can speak, Marianne whirls around at the door of their home and calls out happily. “I can talk to the birds, Mama!”</p><p>Silque’s brow furrows. A smile begins on her face as she lowers her cleric’s habit from her head. “Can you now, my darling?”</p><p>“Ask Papa! He can too!”</p><p>Silque glances to Python. He quickly shakes his head and leans to whisper to her. “I can’t but apparently she can.” He shrugs.</p><p>“Ah. I see.” She murmurs before calling out to Marianne. “Dearest, where are you going?”</p><p>“To get seeds for Mister Birdie, the bluebird!” She calls before slamming the door to their home.</p><p>“Eccentric, isn’t she?” Silque smiles.</p><p>Python shakes his head. “She’s gonna attract bugs and animals and shit—"</p><p>“<em>Language</em>.” She warns. “I do not want our four year old cussing when I serve her something she does not like.”</p><p>“Crap.”</p><p>Silque shakes her head now, the habit falling around her shoulders. Marianne hurries out from the house, beaming as she makes a mad dash for the workshop. Silque catches her shoulder. “Come here my darling.”</p><p>Marianne glances up at her mother. “Why don’t you show me your new friend? I’d be very excited to meet him.”</p><p>“Oh, okay! Papa met him, so it’s only fair.” She leans a little closer, sharing a secret in a too-loud voice. “Mister Birdie didn’t like him that much.”</p><p>Python rolls his eyes. Silque glances up to him and smiles brightly, not forced or fake at all. She laughs a little, a sweet, melodic thing. “He is an acquired taste to some.”</p><p>“Papa also made him a birdhouse! Come and see! Come and see!” Marianne pleads.</p><p>Silque’s brow furrows. “I thought you were to work on the commission for dining room table?” She says coyly.</p><p>“The little miss mandated it.” He holds up his hands.</p><p>Marianne reaches for both her mother’s and pulls her towards the clearing where the birdhouse is. Silque’s hand finds Python’s and pulls him along too, in a little family chain.</p>
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